Camomile
by dunno-who
Summary: A story of dreams, light, laughter, camomile, and / that is freedom. That may be what the subconscious wants. Everything here is more or less just implied, though I'd like to warn you that one of the implied things is incest. One-shot.


_Hello, there. This is a very strange thing. I am not even sure it is a fanfiction, but it does have some corresponding characteristics, so... It is a dream, or, it is written according to an actual dream of mine, one I had a few days ago. I was really surprised when I woke up, but... there was also some nice feeling about it and that's what this story is about._

 _I wrote it just yesterday, short before midnight, and so I do not have much of a distance, but in this case, this is all so strange, I just have to post it right now. There are some things which someone might not like, I'm sorry about that, but everything is just implied, like usually, I am such a shy person, sexual intercourse implied, incest implied... oh my god, I'd never believe I'd write something containing incest... wow..._

 _Again, it is... strange. But let's move on._

...

I want to write something weird, I say. I want to write some weird story, where some people would say, the fuck did I just read. I am walking a dusty path surrounded by grass, then it leads me to my room with blue carpet and white wardrobes, nobody notices the nonsense, including me. I laugh at my plans, I get an idea, I laugh at it again and say, I watch too much Game of Thrones, huh. There is someone with me, behind me, who I am talking to, but who the hell..?

A girl is in my room, she has loads of shining light red hair, the front strands are tighed at the back of her hair, so that they do not fall to her face, filled with sweet little freckles. She is dressed very light, is it summer?

She leaves my room and enters our living room, but it is not our living room and it is not our flat, it belongs to someone the girl knows, it belongs to – it belongs to some member of the Order of the Phoenix, because now I can see the others, I can see them coming through the main door, there is the guy, a werewolf, and a girl with violet hair, and others, taking off their shoes and talking, laughing, worrying... They have a meeting here. It's war.

There is another ginger among them, it's a tall guy with a ponytail and a boar's tusk as an earing, he's smiling at the girl, she's smiling at him, too, he says – I haven't seen you for so long, Ginny. She answers – I am so happy to see you, Bill... I answer, because it is me now. They hug. We do. I write the story by living it through. Creepy, isn't it? But there is fewer and fewer space left for fear in my mind and Ginny takes it instead. And Ginny isn't afraid of anything.

The Order is supposed to spend a night in here, for some reason all of them are going to sleep in other rooms, just Bill and Ginny will take the living room, just for themselves, the biggest room only for two people, my subconscious just does not require logic, but what does it want then?

Bill and Ginny seem to be pleased by the development, they are smiling at each other, conspiratorially, like this is great, isn't it, this is going to be fun...

There is still a part of me in here and suddenly I do not understand, why everyone is going to bed, when the sun is still shining, everything is so beautiful, all the light, Bill and Ginny are laughing, laughing at something only they know, laughing at the fact that there is a secret and at the secret itself, they are so happy it hurts – it only hurts me, because they are so free, there is no worry, not even an idea of worry, what does it even mean to worry about something? Now they are half naked and I am Ginny. Nobody else.

There is always someone disturbing, but they just laugh at it, as if there was nothing else they could do with their faces. I, Ginny, go to the other room and with an amused face I ask – what's up? Can I help you? Then the people leave and I return to my brother. We're lying at the same mattress, that's what everyone knows, but they do not know that we are under the same blanket, that we touch, the dirty white blanket, light, sort of pinkish freckled skin, the light, the light is entering every piece of reality, even us and our laughing mouths. This isn't real, though...

They are talking and for some reason they mention camomile, but Ginny, me, cannot remember the word in english, she needs to, so that she could live even this part through, so that she could go on writing, so that I could go on. The story gets stuck. She gets up and walks in the bedroom and searches the internet, yes, in the muggle way, and finds it, she knows now, but I don't, I cannot remember in my dream...

She returns. Camomile. Camomile is everything. I can even smell it. Ginny lies next to her brother and smiles. The light is everything, it may have the colour of camomile's scent...

Nothing really happens, or it doesn't happen in a way I could experience, even my subconscious is too narrow-minded for that. Or maybe too shy. Light, freckles, and laughter, that's it for Ginny and Bill.

It's the other day. The Order goes somewhere – it's a dusty path with grass around it. Is it some sort of a mission? Ginny just tells me of her freedom, but nothing concrete as for what is going on...

Other conspiratioral looks. Bill is smiling. I am smiling. It seems now, that I could maybe have camomile in my hair, in my thick red hair, floating in the wind. We smile, because they don't know and we actually do not care. We walk the dusty path, the others walk in front of us, and we do not care about anything.

Camomile is all in me and everywhere around. The scent of camomile in my hair... In Ginny's floating hair I softly touch...

Camomile is freedom, I say.


End file.
